By Jyrylle Penarroyo
I wrung my hands in the sun,
settling in the impermanence
of the evening’s promise.
To surrender within the antonym of loss
—there I will sit,
waiting for tomorrow.
Beneath the solstice,
I seek for one last breath
that the wind I face is one full of reverence.
Do I muster up the courage
to fall into April waters,
knowing that I am but the same
in a world swayed by torpid currents.
Nothing has changed,
until one brighter day
where the orchids sing once more
of it’s undying grace.
Yorumlar